


Who We Are

by MetalBunny



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen, Kidlock, Parenthood, SO MUCH FLUFF, raising precocious children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:08:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetalBunny/pseuds/MetalBunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one shots of family fluff because I can't get enough of it.  The Holmes children are annoying yet endearing.  I love kidlock fluff, jfc.  Probably focus on Sherlock the most though spatterings of Mycroft in the future and allusions to the mentioned 'other one' but I can't get myself to envision the 'other one' properly because I have nothing to go off of at the moment.  Maybe series 4 will give us some hints??</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who We Are

**Author's Note:**

> These one shots are my first public posting of fan fics so...be gentle. No smut in these. But if you like family feels, it might be good. I feel incredibly self conscious posting these. Nice, friendly, helpful feedback appreciated. Some will be shorter, others longer. If people enjoy it I will try to update regularly and such..
> 
> I like ornery children who think they know better.

Sherlock had been making a point to annoy his mother all day. It wasn’t necessarily intentional, but he was feeling rather ornery and getting into, climbing on, and messing with things he shouldn’t be. No one thing had been quite naughty enough to warrant any sort of correction beyond a verbal reminder to behave or to stop, but it was starting to really wear on his mother’s patience. It seemed like every time she turned around, she had to tell him to stop what he was doing.

He hadn’t even been making an effort to hide the naughtiness. She wasn’t sure if he just decided he didn’t care today or wasn’t thinking about it or was trying to get her attention in some way. It really was beyond her, and she asked him repeatedly if there was a reason he was misbehaving. He’d simply look a bit bashful for a moment, say something along the lines of “I don’t know,” and go off and do something else.

It had been a good hour since she’d seen him, and she couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. But when she entered the kitchen, she found him standing on the counter, removing a light bulb from it’s socket. She sighed irritably and walked over to him; he seemed to not have even noticed her entry, and when she finally approached him, he looked at her in a bemused way with the light bulb in his hand.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, “Give me that light bulb.”

He handed the light bulb to her with no fuss. “I wanted to see what would happen if I dropped it,” he replied, as though it was something he always did (in a way, it kind of was. He often took apart or destroyed things to see how they worked).

She set the bulb on the counter and took him around the waist, lifting him off the counter and setting him on the floor. “You know you are not to climb on the counters,” she said, “And I’m pretty sure you know better than to break glass things. That’s very dangerous.”

Sherlock didn’t really like to be corrected, and he felt very frustrated. “I was being careful!” he said, “I have good balance on the counter… and I would have been careful when I broke the bulb, too.”

She shook her head a bit. “I’m glad you were careful,” she replied, “But that does not mean you can do things you aren’t supposed to be doing. You are not to climb on them again, and you are not to touch the light bulbs, is that clear?”

Oh he hated that question. Of course it was clear! He knew in some way it was a trap too. If he did repeat the behavior, he would be doing so after telling her that he had understood her instructions perfectly fine. Deliberately disobeying her never ended well. “Yes,” he said, and then mumbled, “I’m not an idiot.”

She frowned a little. “Now don’t get cheeky,” she said, “You’ve been quite naughty all day, and I have had just about enough of it.”

Sherlock stamped his foot. “Maybe you just have too many rules,” he said hotly. She could see that he was teetering on the line of a tantrum, and was going to put a stop to it promptly. She gave him a swift swat to the backside.

“Stop this now,” she said very sternly to a suddenly very wounded Sherlock. He frowned at her, still seeming like he could explode at any moment. “I will take you over my knee properly if you can’t behave yourself,” she added. He didn’t like that either. A threat like that always annoyed him greatly because he suddenly had to be very aware of his behavior in order to avoid a follow through of the threat. But it did keep him from throwing a fit.

Instead, he looked at the ground and crossed his arms. “Maybe I should go somewhere where there aren’t any rules,” he said quietly. If it had been under different circumstance, she might have smiled at the comment.

“Maybe you should,” was her reply. She was humorless about it, and Sherlock did not look at her or say anything else and he walked out of the kitchen. 

She watched him leave, hoping that perhaps that would put an end to the misbehaving. She waited a few minutes to see if he would come back with anything to say in reply, as he sometimes would think of something snappy to say a bit after the fact, but he did not return. 

She went to the fridge to begin to decide what she should make for dinner, and while she shifted through what they had, she heard footsteps in the kitchen. She closed the fridge and saw that Sherlock had returned, but he was carrying a bag. She had to refrain from smiling, and he looked so very serious.

“I’m going,” he stated. He looked at her expectantly.

“Alright,” she said, then went back to the fridge.

Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure what he had wanted her reply to be. At the moment he was serious, but there was a part of him that wanted her to tell him he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere. But that defeated the purpose of his hope for a rule-free place, and so he left the kitchen, dragging the bag behind him. He stopped at the door, considering saying something else, but decided not to and went outside.

He paused on the doorstep. Maybe this was stupid, after all. But she didn’t seem to care that he wanted to leave, and he felt frustratingly upset at this. Perhaps that wasn’t what he really wanted. He gathered up as much resolve as he had and walked slowly up to the gate. 

Now he was faced with a conundrum. He wasn’t supposed to leave the yard. He did once and got himself lost and got in very big trouble. He always promised himself he wouldn’t do that again. But he wanted to leave for this rule-free place, didn’t he? What would happen if he just left a little bit? Surely she would come after him then, wouldn’t she? However, he didn’t want her to get overly cross with him. Besides, she wasn’t even watching and it would be a while before anyone noticed he was actually gone. He then realized that if he did leave, he wanted her to see him do it. It baffled him. He wasn’t sure why that was. And he wanted a rule free life, but also didn’t in a way. He was very confused and feeling sadder by the second. He didn’t like feelings like sadness, not that many people did, but he tried to convince himself that it really wasn’t there. It wasn’t working.

He gave up and sat on the path in front of the gate for a while. His mother was actually watching him through a window, to be sure he didn’t actually leave, but he wasn’t aware of this. He sat for a long while, trying to figure out what he was feeling. His brother always told him to think about emotions before acting, but he wasn’t that good at it. He wanted his mother to come out and say that she didn’t want him to leave. He wanted her to comfort him very suddenly. He didn’t like it. Maybe he would go and lay with his dog for a little while.

Oh! The dog. He hadn’t even thought about Redbeard in his haste to leave. That would be very sad to leave him here, not even saying goodbye. He decided he would take the dog with him, then. That would make it so the sadness would go away, wouldn’t it? He stood and walked back to the house. He wasn’t sure why he felt it necessary to ask his mother if it was ok to take the dog with him. Maybe it was because they always had to ask if they took the dog somewhere, he and his brothers, or maybe it was because he hoped that she would tell him that she wanted him to stay.

When she had seen him come back to the house, his mother had gone back to dinner related preparations, so when he entered the kitchen again, she seemed completely unaffected by his absence. He stood in the room silently for a moment, watching her busy herself.

“Mum?” he finally said.

“Yes?” was all she said in reply.

“Can I…take the dog with me?” 

“No. This is Redbeard’s home and he doesn’t mind the rules.”

“I have to go all alone?”

“If you are insistent on going, yes.”

He was silent and looked at the floor. This was not what he wanted at all. His mother looked at a recipe. “Hmm,” she said to herself, “Looks like I’ll have to adjust this recipe for four instead of five, seeing that you’re leaving, you won’t be eating with us.”

Sherlock continued to look at the floor, and tried very hard not to cry. Was it really that easy? Did she really not care if he left? He couldn’t help himself and started to cry despite his efforts not to. He hated it when she made him cry. She was aware that he was crying, but she gave him a few moments. He really wanted his mummy, and she really wanted him to rethink his behavior. She allowed him to sniffle for a bit before she stopped what she was doing and sat on one of the chairs.

“Come here, Sherlock,” she said gently, and he took his time shuffling over to her, not looking up from the floor, and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. When he finally reached her, she lifted him onto her lap and embraced him. Often he would squirm a bit or push away a little, but this time he let her hold him and buried his face into her shirt. “Does this mean you’re not going to leave?” she asked.

He didn’t say anything but shook his head. She ran a hand over his hair a bit. “Good,” she said, “I was hoping you’d come back. I was going to make you dinner, after all.” This cause a whole new batch of tears to arise, which she responded with a tighter embrace. 

He calmed down after a bit, and finally lifted his head up so he could see her. “Why didn’t you stop me?” he asked, sounding very upset that she hadn’t. The look and tone he used made her hear melt and she nearly apologized to him for everything, but she managed to refrain.

“Because,” she said, in a firm but kind sort of way, “I don’t appreciate threats like that. I’m sorry it hurt your feelings, but if you want attention, you have to go about it properly. You behaved badly, Sherlock. We have rules to keep you safe and sound, not to be mean.” He didn’t respond, but placed his face back into her shirt. He knew she was right but he wasn’t going to outright admit it. She kissed the top of his head. “I love my naughty little boy.” He gave a slight laugh.

Sherlock sat on her lap for a while longer before he had, had enough. He then proceeded to “help” her make dinner, asking dozens of questions as to why she was doing what she was doing and what he proposed would be better ways of doing things. While it might be annoying to another mother, this was normal for their family and she was glad he was back to his normal self.


End file.
